• Here saying good-day at the base of the bridge
    And warm to a man so cold in its ridge
    Reminds me of what can happen to man
    A world at the brink of san*.
    All his life, shut out by a despising race.
    He "don't want it shattered by those at a different pace,"
    I don't want it listfully torn for "the joy of 'the chase'"
    By hunters, and I don't want it demolished by chais*
    (If certain it wouldn't be great to make
    I'd call Preacher, Lawyer, and busines man to the ridge
    And show them the way with a man as a symbol.)
    I don't want him hurt by them as he trembles.
    (I made him secure against them, I pray,
    By showing him the sunshine in this dismal day
    No word's the harshest for his situation, so old,
    But one thing's about it, it musn't get cold.
    How often I've allready said to warn:
    "Keep warm, old man. Good-day and keep warm.
    Fear death more than those scornful words."
    I have to be gone to help those who still lurk.
    My business there is with different men,
    Less wondrously cared, less loved than deprived children.
    And such as is done to their spirit with kindred*
    Praised and lifted with some men dead.
    I wish I could promise to stay
    And think of you life's new play
    When slowly (and only I came to see you lay)
    Your heart slows... Slower to death
    But you died with triumph in your last breath.